


beautiful music

by kemonomimi



Category: Uta no Prince-sama
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drabble, F/M, Gender or Sex Swap, Genderbending, Genderswap, Pining, game-verse, implied mutual pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 16:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21377143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kemonomimi/pseuds/kemonomimi
Summary: a private moment, fleeting glances, and silent acknowledgements.
Relationships: Hijirikawa Masato/Jinguuji Ren, Hijirikawa Masato/fem!Jinguuji Ren
Kudos: 2





	beautiful music

Just beyond the pillar, outlined in moonlight, sits Masato Hijirikawa. She knows it’s him without seeing his face directly; sharp jawline, broad shoulders, distinctive cut of hair -- his features are there, etched out in soft light. He’s alone, a long hallway and a turn away from the bustling social event they are both here to attend. She doubts he can even see her peeking from around the pillar swathed in darkness. The decorative string of lights wrapped around it buzz, but they emit no light. For now she is hidden, free to examine him against a moonlit backdrop.

She allows herself to wonder what he thinks of her, in her plunging neckline, hip-hugging sheath of a dress. The possibility that he does not think of her at all is not one she considers. Heads turn when she moves, whispers spread like ashes in the wind when she disappears. More importantly, they knew one another, once upon a time. She is a far cry from the temperamental, pig-tailed child that splashed with him in the ornate fountain and traversed the empty coils of the cruise ship beneath the veil of snow, but she has the same blue eyes, the same sandy hair. Now her eyes are lined with color and her hair long and curled. Now she is a woman traversing the stage and balancing social obligations, not a girl running away rebelliously from her responsibilities.

And he is the man who gave up a dream of music to stand stonily beside the Hijirikawa patriarch, waiting for his turn at the podium.

What does it feel like, she wonders, to be the apple of one’s family’s eye. She shifts, pressing silk against cool marble. What does it feel like to have a purpose in life, preordained before birth?

What does it feel like to be a piano beneath his hands, ivory and ebony keys singing for each motion of his fingers? She hums along with the melody, low and under her breath, eyes closed. The picture is painted on her eyelids anyway, his mascline form seated at the piano under the moon. It’s one that will haunt her dreams when the night comes to a close, too. Her fingertips twitch, following his melody with a silent saxophonic duet. 

They could have made beautiful music together.

When his melancholy melody fades into its last chords, she holds her breath. Really, it’s childish to want to remain hidden, but she clings to the darkness and wills it to be so. She cannot bring herself to smile tauntingly behind rouge-red lips, to needle her way under his skin until he narrows his eyes and whispers a scoff. Her lashes feel too thick, too heavy over dewy eyes. 

He pauses beside her pillar. Her fingertips bite into the stone to flatten her against it. Ever so slowly he leans down, placing something at the foot of the pillar. Then he’s gone in an echoing of footsteps, never faltering on the path back to the party.

Beside the pillar is a hankerchief, sharply and meticulously folded. She picks it up, pressing it to her cheeks to catch the liquid that threatens to pour over and ruin an hour’s worth of work in front of a mirror. She thinks about replacing it, leaving it where he left it. She is proud even now.

Something catches her attention; an imperfection at the very edge of the fabric. Gingerly Rena unfolds it, holding it up to examine it in the light. The lights wrapped around the pillar blink, then glow, her shifting foot wedging the wire back into the outlet. 

In the center, in pitch black, the distinctive swish of his calligraphy. Love, it reads. Ren it could read. She tucks it away, keeping it close to the warmth of her skin.

They could create beautiful music together.

**Author's Note:**

> commissioned piece for lora. love you.


End file.
